


Intervention

by SmutWithPlot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: bereavement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 20:57:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6209845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmutWithPlot/pseuds/SmutWithPlot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been three months since the Weasley Twins became George. He hasn't quite gotten back into the grips of things, so his family stages an intervention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intervention

_With the whole wide world of ear-related humour, and you go for 'I'm holey'? That's pathetic._

There is something to be said for a corrective influence when it comes to creative thinking. That first person to hear a joke, and tell you if it's funny or not. Someone whose judgement you trust, wholeheartedly, someone you can trust to keep your secrets. Someone who could tell you it was rubbish, and it didn't hurt. But could take a good idea and run with it, and help you turn it into something glorious. George Weasley was blessed to have such a partner in crime. And more so that he didn't have to look for him.

Which made it all the worse when he lost him.

Death makes things a blur, after a while. Days turn into weeks. Weeks become months. Months turn into a rather anxious landlord's owls about the financial standing of your shop. And you think of the pile of mail from desperate souls wanting some of your cheap tricks in an attempt to smile again.

How do you go on with the show when your heart is broken?

It had been three months. This time when the query on the shop came, George tossed it aside, knowing what it was. He was rubbing his eyes when the soft steps came down the stairs.

Ginny offered him a tentative smile. "'Ello."

His own was just as frail and insincere. "Morning."

"Tea?" she offered, starting a kettle.

"Alright."

She set it to boil, and moved towards him, sitting down beside him. She saw the envelope, recognised the name, knew that it was the third one she'd seen that he hadn't opened. The last ones had been chucked in the fire.

"That about the shop?"

"Hmm?" He looked up at her. She motioned to the letter. He made a noise. "Don't worry 'bout it. I'll chuck it later."

"George..." It wasn't quite a warning... Or a pleading. She reached for it, and he didn't stop her. His eyes stared at nothing, as his good ear listened to her rip open the letter, the other muffled under a bandage that was there more for appearances than healing. He couldn't bare to look at himself in the mirror, but if he took it off, people stared. And when people stared, he had half a desire to make a joke. And then... _All of ear related humour and you came up with holey?_  It was a viscious cycle.

...Beside him, Ginny read, and made this little sound mum would make -- a sort of aggravated sigh, but she would keep it contained. Pursed lips and a breath out of the nose. Ginny opened her lips to rearrange them, and folded it back up, returning it to the envelope.

"He's going to shut it down if you don't do something," she said. It wasn't a chide, but more a reminder.

"I really can't be bothered to fuss about it right now," he muttered. He closed his eyes, rubbing them again, not wanting to hear the other voice in his head, the one that would remind him pay day was coming. Or well past. A general aimless restlessness, coupled with the utter inability to decide to do a damned thing had taken over his mind. All he did was sleep. And cry. And put off things. And distract himself with something stupid he never did, like bouncing a ball across the wall. He'd taken to doing it in the garden, where no one else was wandering. Kept mum from pestering him, or father askign questions.

Ginny had been out of the house for weeks. Off with Harry and Ron and Hermione, doing their own share of mourning. He wasn't sure why she decided to come back after all but she had arrived earlier that afternoon. Mum went mad with food, naturally, and yet no one seemed wanting to eat.

Things were quiet. George kept his eyes shut, not wanting to know what the expression on her face was. Not wanting to hear what she had to say.

Ginny had a habit of telling you what you needed to hear, not what you wanted to hear. On the few occassions he and... hadn't gotten on, Ginny seemed to know how to fix things.

Maybe mum knew that trick, too.

...She didn't break the silence. The kettle did. And there was the quiet of china as she set about her task. George risked opening his eyes, and looked to the envelope. It was still lying open, and he hated it. Hated what it stood for. The impatience of a world that insisted on his action, when he had no idea what to do with himself, much less a business... He snatched at it, and pulled it out, half-worried he'd rip it in two and half-not caring at all if he did. He read it through, a lump in his throat, and read what he'd read before. A half-hearted letter of sympathy, asking what his plans were with the shop. Mentions of a passed sibling, and condolences, and then a very business-like air that he needed to know what the plan was. After two months of unpaid rent, he was legally allowed to lock up the place and sell the lot of it... He expressed regret, that he didn't want to do that, that the shop was wonderful "and you two worked so hard on it"...

...George crumpled up the paper in a giant ball, tears pricking at his eye, and he did chuck it, full arm throw into the fire. He snatched up the envelope, and threw that in there, too. Breathing ragged and thin... And he buried his head in the table, hands digging into his wild red hair.

...He felt her move behind him, arms wrapping tight around his, and her head at the back of his neck. At first his sobs were quiet, weak things. Desperate whines that he'd tried to keep to himself, tried to...

"I'm here, George, I'm here."

...And then they were wails, and he opened up to her, looking up at her, to see her own face, red and streaked in tears, and they embraced. He held her tight, and she slipped into his lap, and wrapped her arms around his neck, and he held her close. He sobbed, heavy, wailing sobs, shoulder heaving, mess and tears.

He heard the whistle of the kettle, and her murmured spell to kill it, and and felt the stream of tears from her as well.

Before he knew it, there was another pair of arms. And then another. And then the fussing of his mother, and they all joined in. They were all a mess of sobs, with Ginny and George in the middle of it.

When he stopped, others kept going. Ginny was whispering things in his ear, gentle thumbs on his shirt. Mum had her big, soft hands in big circles on his back. His father was holding his mother, speaking gently as well. "That's it, love. That's it. Let it all out. We all need it."

Percy split off first, holding himself, and George watched him. He coughed, like he hadn't meant to show off such a display of affection, but he had, and now he felt ruined... But he turned and spotted George watching him, and held out a hand.

George took it, squeezing tight. They shared another small smile, that was less frail, less insincere. More of a, "I know what you're going through. It was good to share this. I love you."

Mum split off, wailing into her husbands arms, and he rocked her back and forth, his own eyes red from crying, tear streaked cheeks. Ginny stepped off, offering George another smile, a bit warmer than the one he'd had with Percy, and she gave him a kiss on the temple.

He watched her move to the kettle, and set it back on, and he wondered at where on earth this girl had such a strength.

Mum seemed to hear the whistle of the kettle, and took it as her cue to stop. She sniffled, wiping her nose on her hand, and started to fuss again. Pa watched her, laughing softly, and the whole lot of them sat down for tea.

It was quiet at first. But for Mum's fussing. She got biscuits for everyone, and insisted on asking everyone four times if they wanted to eat something. George wasn't sure his stomach could handle it. But right now, tea and biscuits was perfect.

Pa was the first to clear his throat. "So then. George." His smile was thin, but trying its best to be encouraging. "How about that shop of yours?"

George looked down into the cup. "...I'm not sure."

"Well, it's been a while, hasn't it? Best get on with that, son. Or you'll miss your chance."

"I'll help, if need be."

George looked to Percy with surprise. He still wasn't used to Percy being back in the family... "I... I appreciate that, Perce."

"Me, too!" offered Pa, grinning. "Can't say as I'd be much use, but you can have me cleaning up boxes or summat."

"Oh, I can help with cleaning, that's for sure," Mum added. "You know me and a broom." She made a little swish-swish of her hands, and one of the brooms in the corner stepped right up, and everyone was chuckling.

Well... George didn't quite chuckle. But he had a small smile. "I think I'd like that."

Ginny reached out to him, and George took her hand. She squeezed it, and he squeezed back, if not as strong.

"We'll all help. It is a family business after all."

Her eyes told him, you're not alone. We can help.

George felt the tears coming again, and he gasped a sob.

"Oh, there there..." Mum came up behind him, holding him close with her warmth and softness. She rubbed his arms. "That's what family's for, Georgie. We all stick together."

"Through thick and thin," added his father.

"Besides," Percy added, his voice quiet. "The world needs some laughter right about now."

It took him a moment to look up, but George caught his eyes again. And he nodded.

"Too right it does."

The next morning, when another missive came in the mail during breakfast, Mum made an announcement about it. His father walked him through it. They wrote apologies, citing familial obligations, but that they would still be working the shop. They could put a payment plan together if need be. By the time they were finished eating, it had been flown off to the proprietor, and his father was suggesting they have a big reopening event after everything was taken care of. George was shy about it, but Percy said he'd talk to his contacts at the Daily Prophet about getting an ad out to announce it. Mum wrangled Harry and Ron and even Bill and Charlie by Floo to meet up at the shop that Tuesday to help do the cleaning. She promised a feast of sandwiches for her hungry wizards, and kissed her husband. George felt apprehension gnawing at his gut, and said nothing. He retired to his room, dreading all of it, and went to bed before supper.

When Percy woke him up, it was dark out. Mum made them breakfast, and hounded George to make sure he actually ate something. He was suspicious, especially when his father came down to join them, and Percy practically pestered him into getting dressed. Already irate, he put on a pair of jeans and shirt, and the good working boots his brother insisted on. He was then herded downstairs again, and his father put on the Floo Powder, calling for Diagon Alley.

Panick struck, but Percy dragged him by the hand into the fireplace and called the same.

They landed in the Leaky Cauldron, and the barman called out to greet them. He especially caught George's eye, and he felt ill from the look of pity in his eyes. He rushed from the room, embarassed as hell, and his father and brother ran out to catch him.

"This is ridiculous!" he snarled. "I hate this! I see the way they look at me..."

Alone in the back, his father and brother looked to each other, and cornered him.

"Now, George. We're only trying to help..."

"THIS ISN'T HELPFUL!!!" he barked, bellowing, face red. "You're pushing and shoving, and it's not helping!"

"Well, what do you expect us to do?" his father plead. "You've been in a slump for _months_. All you do is sleep, you barely eat, the shop is abandoned..."

"LEAVE ME ALONE ABOUT THE BLOODY SHOP! It's not yours, is it?!" He gestured to Percy. "So sorry I couldn't be a Ministry man like YOU wanted! Or a cursebreaker like Bill! Or a dragon tamer like Charlie! I had to go and be some stupid pranker..."

"It's not stupid!" Percy protested.

"Georgie!"

"Don't call me 'Georgie', like you pity me!" He roared, stabbing a finger at him. "I can _hear_  it! You pity me! Oh, poor, earless George! Lost his brother, George! You don't know what it's like!"

"Come on, now!" Percy said, arms spreading. "Be fair! He was my brother, too!"

"You weren't even IN this family for years!" George barked, charging at his brother, and his father had to hold him. "Don't you DARE tell me it's the same! He was my LIFE!"

And then, his father slapped him, eyes burning with tears. In shock, George stumbled. "Come now. That's no way to talk to your brother. We are a _family_  now. And we are trying to _help_  you. And you're lashing out at us."

George backed against the wall, and leaned against it, tears at his eyes. "It's not the same..." he whispered. "He was my _twin_. He was my... He was _me_." His face crumpled. "I can't stand it, when they look at me... They look over my shoulder, dad. They look for Fred. I see them hesitate... They don't remember my name."

"Oh, George..." He wrapped his arms around his son, and George cried again. Percy hesitated, wanting to belong, but not knowing... Until he joined in anyway, holding them both, eyes wandering, not sure where to put them.

It took longer than he cared to admit to stop, but holding his father helped. Hearing the noise of the Leaky Cauldron a little ways away _helped_. Sniffling, he came up out of it, and Percy backed away immediately. His father pulled out a kerchief, and offered it to him. Feeling like a child, George took it, blowing his nose, and generally cleaning himself up.

"...I look like rubbish," he muttered.

"Of course you do," his father answered, with an encouraging smile. "You're going to look like rubbish for a while. C'mon..."

His father tapped the brick, and they opened up onto Diagon Alley, bustling in the day time. The familiar noises of commerce, that used to excite him, were haunted memories. He kept close to his father, Percy taking up wing on the other side of him, pointing worried glances at his brother. George hated feeling so vulnerable, so weak... But with his family, he didn't really have much of a choice. His father kept an arm wrapped around his shoulder, a steady pace keeping them on.

...When they prepared to turn that first corner, George held his breath, dread pooling in his stomach. When he turned, the dread went up into the back of his throat, choking him, and his feet hesitated.

At the end of the street, that tall, obnoxious mannequin stood, hat in mid stroke, a white rabbit peeking out from underneath.

_Do you think it's too ostentatious?_

_What? No! No, I think it's wonderful. It makes a bold statement. Plus, at this rate, everyone will just say "Mr. Weasley". No one knows which one of us is which, so they'll never mix us up. Brilliant, isn't it?_

He choked on a sob, and his father stopped, turning to him.

"That's it, son, that's it. Feel it. Let it happen."

Percy looked about, nervous, and then at his brother and father, as George stared over his father's shoulder at the facade of his dead brother.

...Strangely, it helped more than it hurt.

"I got it, I'm fine."

He brushed his father away, moving forward. The confidence in his feet was a damned lie, but he did it anyhow. A part of him moved over the windows, noting that none of them were broken. None were grafittied. There was no defamation of any kind.

He wondered how much of that was the shielding charm Fred had insisted they put on the windows George had thought it a bit superfluous, but now he was happy about it.

George took a deep breath. "Alright, Fred. Let's do this."

When he unlocked the door, father at his shoulder, he felt this humming, an anticipation, on the other side of the door. And when he opened it, the whole air was alive with possibility. Warm orange, mad purple, the ungodly pink of the Wonder Witch potions in a back corner. The sky light shone through dust, and for a moment, he was there for the first time.

_The place is a wreck._

_On the contrary, I think it's quite beautiful. Mad and wonderful. Like us._

He smiled, remembering the disbelieving look on his brother's face. As he stepped up to the cashier, picking up the first of many letters -- unfilled orders, notes of consolation, offerings of help... And he took a breath. "We start with the top, eh?" And he opened it with a finger, his brother and father waiting for his cue.

_Alright, George. I'll remember you said that._

**Author's Note:**

> There is a supposed understanding that Harry will offer to help with the financial situation, but George turns him down. His brother's life insurance policy will be enough to keep things covered. But it will become more of a family run company. George stays CEO and creative director, but Percy helps run the shop from now on, and Bill when he's not abroad on business.


End file.
